


Hold Tight, Hold Tight

by fitzhuu



Category: Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 1940s, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Comfort Sex, Domestic Avengers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, F/M, Female Friendship, Female Jewish Character, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Holocaust, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Hurt Steve Rogers, Jewish Bucky Barnes, Jewish Character, Jewish Identity, Judaism, Marriage Proposal, POV Bucky Barnes, POV Female Character, POV Jewish Character, POV Steve Rogers, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Post-World War II, Protective Steve Rogers, Strong Female Characters, War, Wartime, Wartime Romance, World War II
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-10-03 17:11:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20377762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fitzhuu/pseuds/fitzhuu
Summary: Romance and comfort await back in Brooklyn as Steve Rogers (now Captain America) and Bucky Barnes return from the war in December 1945, but they find that old demons followed them along the way. Lots of hurt/comfort/angst, multiple POVs, OCs, and eventually tooth-rotting domestic fluff from all sides.Author's note: this fic addresses issues and experiences related to PTSD, the Holocaust, antisemitism, and, more broadly, Jewish identity. While some chapters are lighter than others, many of Bucky's installments will be darker in comparison.





	Hold Tight, Hold Tight

The crowded tenements on the north side of Brooklyn were well-kept compared to others in the city. They towered over smaller storefronts, the shingles and snow on the roof bouncing rays of sun into adjacent windows, where other families played in their living rooms. The stairs at 358 Grove had just been repainted a lovely burgundy to complement the beige walls in the hallway. But as Evelyn Rogers stared at those same stairs, they suddenly seemed menacing and never-ending, as if they led a fortress where some fairytale villain resided. 

She was bulging at the middle, her pregnant belly obscuring her feet from view as she slowly shuffled up to her third-floor apartment. It was her second, but somehow her first, Steven, had been easier… perhaps because his size always resembled that of his father before the war. Pale, thin, somewhat sickly - she hoped he would grow some before he started school next fall. 

She grunted in pain as her eyes landed on Ella, her best friend who was now standing at the top of the second flight of stairs. 

“You could have buzzed. I would have come to fetch you!” 

“I can do this,” Evelyn scoffed, holding onto the rail to avoid losing her balance. “I’m not an invalid.”

“No... “ Ella replied, clearly used to being on the receiving end of stubbornness. “But you’re very pregnant.” She offered her hand, which was reluctantly accepted as they began a cautious ascent to the next floor. “You’re over-exerting yourself. We can’t have another false start.”

No matter how much she scowled, in her heart of hearts, Evelyn knew she was right. Her ankles were so swollen that she couldn’t imagine how she’d slipped into her oxfords earlier that morning. The voraciousness of her appetite kept fluctuating - from wanting everything to nothing at all - and her head was swimming with vertigo if she stood for longer than a few minutes. When she lifted a small table earlier that week to vacuum, she fell to the floor, doubled over in pain and convinced that she was in labor, only to find that uterine contractions were normal even in earlier stages of pregnancy (though, from what she remembered, Steven had never provoked those either).

As much as her body wanted to push the baby out, she hoped she could keep the little one in long enough for Steve to return from his tour. Her husband, now a high-profile patriot instead of the small Stevie she’d met at Coney Island, was due back in three weeks, as was his best friend, Bucky. He’d missed the birth of his son, and Evelyn knew he couldn’t bear it to miss the birth of his second son or, she secretly hoped, his first daughter.

Once the girls were upstairs, Evelyn collapsed into the nearest chair, barely bothering to remove her coat while Ella prepared a pot of ersatz tea with raspberry leaves.

“For what it’s worth, me toting this little one around has its advantages,” she began, placing a paper bag on the floor. “The grocer happened to have more sugar available… and more beef that must have, er, fallen off a truck, so to speak. He saw how big I was and nearly gave me the shop."

“We’ll have to stretch that out for a while, I imagine.” Ella handed her a cup before taking a seat herself. “There are plenty saying the war will be over soon, but they said that months ago. We weren’t even supposed to be in it in the first place.”

They’d never discussed it, but it was clear she was bitter that they’d both fled war in Britain when it merely followed them with the attack on Pearl Harbor just over four years ago. Evelyn was still involved in undisclosed work with the Foreign Office - under the guise of secretarial duties - while her roommate had resigned herself to working at Foyle’s Bookshop for meager wages. She tried to persuade Ella into being a volunteer nurse in a convalescent home abroad, but she would hear none of it; she knew deep down that, more than anything, Ella wanted Bucky to come home and be there when he returned. 

Sensing her friend’s impending sadness and possible tangent, Evelyn forced herself to smile and changed the subject. 

“You mean _I’ll_ have to stretch it out. You know my appetite. Why did I think it was a good idea to become pregnant again before the war was over?”

Ella was grinning now. “I don’t think you had much of a say in it, judging on how you and Captain America went straight to bed the last time he came home.”

Evelyn’s smile grew until she was beaming from ear to ear. It was hard not being around Steve, to have the intimacy that both her heart and her hormones were desperately craving. She missed his wispy blonde hair, the freshness of his face, the musky smell of his skin. Despite being so round that she could barely stand, three weeks couldn’t come soon enough. A slight spasm in her belly told her the baby felt the same way. 

“You and _James_ would be the same way if you two had the nerve to admit you fancy each other.”

“He’s like a brother,” Ella murmured, though the red in her cheeks betrayed the sentiment.

“I doubt that very much,” Evelyn said smartly, raising the cup of tea to her lips. It was bitter, of course, but not near as much as the coffee they attempted once a week that was made of roasted acorns. Of all the luxuries taken away because of the war, coffee was one she missed most… even more than flour and sugar. 

But her china mug soon tumbled to the floor, the tea seeping into the carpet as an unbearable pain rippled through her midsection. It radiated through her stomach, making her wretch as she felt shakily on her knees.

Ella leapt to her feet, her previously rosy cheeks now turning an ashen gray. “Ev? What’s wrong, Ev? Tell me!”

Another contraction, harder this time. It felt as if the baby was trying to claw its way out from the inside. She felt Ella’s hands on her, guiding her gently back into the chair she’d been sitting in. Her knees suddenly felt wet, but rather than tea from the floor, they were covered in blood-tinged water. 

_No, no, no no no, not yet_, she felt in her panic, looking down at the mess on the carpet and shaking her head wildly despite the inevitable. Moments felt like hours as she stared at the floor, ignoring Ella’s pleas as her friend scrambled for towels from the linen closet.

_Wait for Daddy. Please wait for--_

The same agony tore through her again, forcing her to grip the sides of the chair. Her pleas were futile. No matter how much she wanted Steve, he was nowhere to be found. 

She looked at Ella with pained eyes, gripping her arm as sweat began to pool on her brow.

“There’s… there’s no time for the hospital. Call the midwife.”

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is an early and ongoing birthday present to my best friend Arielle, who is also the original creator of Evelyn Rogers and graciously allowed me to use her character for a story of my own. 
> 
> Ella Dunwich is my own creation and a character that I've been using for many years. She will also be a protagonist in upcoming chapters with her own POV.
> 
> Foyles Bookshop is a real store based in London, but obviously creative license was taken. Also inspired by the The Foyles Bookshop Girls series by Elaine Roberts, which can be found on Amazon.


End file.
